


But if You Love Me

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8194778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: What a strange feeling it is, to know that he is loved in return.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "Portamis making love (not fucking) for the first time"

What a strange feeling it is, to know that he is loved in return. If Aramis is honest with himself – and he is making a habit of it, tonight, to be honest with his feelings – he expected it would end in a flurry of kisses, haste and lack of care for where they were. But even delirious with happiness, kissing Aramis firmly in the dark alley – cupping his face so tenderly, so gently. Even like this, Porthos is careful. He left before Aramis and so Aramis waits a solid five minutes before following after Porthos towards his room.

Now like this, it would be easy for it to all move in a blur. But Aramis wants to savor. Wants it to last. So he can hold it in his mind’s eye for longer and longer still. He moves into the shadow of Porthos’ body where Porthos sits at the edge of his bed. He stands between Porthos’ legs and helps him pull off his shirt. This is no different from what they’ve done in the past. 

He skims his hands over Porthos’ shoulders, gently, tracing his fingertips across his skin, drags his fingers across the scars he’s traced countless times before. This time, it feels different. A small jolt – a small, simple twist of love. 

He loves Porthos. Porthos loves him back. 

Porthos smiles up at him – a small, tentative thing, bright in his eyes but subtle at his mouth. Aramis lets his hands move across his shoulders, his scars, his arms and chest, the slope of his stomach, the curve of his hips. Porthos stays steady, just watching him.

It’s strange to be so watched. Porthos has known him longer than most – knows every side of Aramis. Now, he looks at him just for the pleasure of looking. 

Aramis lifts his hands and cups Porthos’ cheeks. Porthos smiles more and his eyes light up. Aramis’ fingers fan across his jaw, feeling the scratch of his beard, the stubble leaning up his cheeks. 

“I love you,” Porthos says and it shocks down Aramis’ spine – the thrill to hear it, freely given. It is not the first time Porthos has said it tonight but each time rattles through Aramis and settles, nesting, deep in the pit of his stomach. It is at once thrilling and terrifying. He never wants to feel anything but this. 

“I love you, too,” he murmurs back, tracing his thumbs across Porthos’ smiling mouth. The light in Porthos’ eyes makes them look small and watery – a trick of the light, Aramis hopes. Or happy tears. 

He ducks his head, kissing the corner of Porthos’ eye – slants his mouth up to trace the slash of Porthos’ scar. 

They’re too far apart. Aramis knows how it could go, how it has gone in the past – sliding into Porthos’ lap, tumbling back into the bed, kissing and kissing and kissing some more, sliding his body down onto Porthos’ cock. 

But he wants to go slow. He wants to be patient, this time. They have time. They have each other. 

He touches Porthos. Slow and steady – every inch of him. He takes Porthos’ hands and guides them to his hips, his ribs, the slope of his back. Porthos’ fingers flex as they’re guided, stretching over his skin – and the strength hidden in those hands, callused and battle-touched, but gentle. Always so gentle, his Porthos. 

How strange, the difference clarification can make – how Porthos’ hands, gentle and kind against his skin, could feel more weighted now. The fondness and affection expands in Aramis’ chest. Porthos touches him no different from before, but when Porthos looks up at him and smiles, it feels as if the universe has compressed down into this single moment. 

He ducks his head and presses a kiss to Porthos’ temple. Porthos hums and tilts his head up – canting his mouth up until Aramis kisses him properly. It is slow and steady and heavy with love – that much Aramis knows now, this much Aramis can know for certain. He melts. 

Porthos’ hands slide over Aramis’ skin, work the clothes off of him – touch him all over, slow and steady and sturdy. Aramis shivers.

“Tell me what you want,” Porthos whispers into the kiss, as he always does – and this time it is lighter, unweighted with the longing from before. Freely given. Warm and loved. 

“You,” Aramis tells him and it is tremendously sappy and utterly ridiculous and he knows he’s giving a nervous, hearty, delirious little chuckle because of it – but it doesn’t matter because Porthos is laughing, too, light and bubbling. 

He pulls Porthos’ clothes off, then his own, and then pushes Porthos down onto the bed, straddling his hips. 

“Touch me,” he whispers as he slides his body out over Porthos – and Porthos runs his hands all over him. His face, first, the curve of his cheeks, the drag of his beard. His neck. His back, shoulders. The scars along his sides. His hips. His chest, the hair there. The swirl of his belly button. Exploring him as if it’s the first time he’s ever touched Aramis. 

Amazing, what the difference can be. Porthos takes up his hands, threads their fingers together. A luxury they’ve somehow never thought before. Aramis pins them above Porthos’ head and rocks forward. Their cocks, heavy and full, press and drag together. Aramis groans, then drops his forehead forward to press to Porthos’. Kisses him slow. Feels grounded. Feels loved. 

It is nowhere near the most exciting sex they’ve ever had – just rocking against each other and rutting endlessly until they come, messy and sticky, across each other’s stomachs. But it doesn’t matter. They’re here, together. Aramis’ entire body sings in the aftermath. 

He doesn’t let go of Porthos’ hands. 

“I love you,” he whispers again, just to say it, just to punctuate that truth with a wide grin. He has nothing to fear. Please, he thinks, let him have nothing to fear.

Porthos grins back, his eyes soft, and echoes, “I love you.”


End file.
